The
silence at the table was inordinate. It could not have lasted more
than one or two seconds, and yet, it seemed to stretch on for
eternity. Aislynn broke his eyes away from the uncomfortable
expressions of his father and stepmother to stare out at the
flickering lantern on the porch. Flies mauled themselves in its
lethal sparks. One after another.

Don't
they ever get tired of dying ?

« I'm
so sorry, Ben. He said he'd be here by seven. »
Jennifer, Aislynn's stepmother broke in, apologetically, as if to
ease the tension. Instead, it doubled.

Aislynn's
father sighed and reached across the table to grasp his wife's hand
and caress it with his calloused workingman's thumb. « It's
all right, hon. No big. »

Aislynn's
eyes narrowed a bit as his lazy gaze caught that of the two
intertwined fingers.

No
big. His father was always saying that. Minimizing the negative
aspects of his life so that it could stay perfect. Perfect wife…
Aislynn's eyes drifted to the chandelier and wide windows of the
dining room, to the outside, where the light caught the garden.

Perfect
house.

His
gaze drifted further down, brows arrowing swiftly downwards as he
stared angrily at the light swell of his stepmother's abdomen.

Perfect
kid.

If
I were eighteen, I'd leave.

« I'll
go get some more juice. Do you want anything, Jenn ? »
Ben's son seemed not to exist.

« No,
we're all right, thanks. » Jenn murmured sweetly,
caressing her belly. She spoke of herself and her child. Aislynn was
not a factor for her either.

Yes
father, as a matter of fact, I would like something to drink. I would
very much like your trophy wife's blood. And her stand-up son too.

« I'm
going. » He said, pushing his chair back. He stalked away
from the table savagely, ignoring Jenn's soft request for him to
clear up the table.

As
he marched up the stairs, he scooped up his cat, Sushi, along with
him.

The
small calico mewled pitifully in his grasp.

Grinding
his molars, he lifted the thing from beneath it's arms until it's
face met his.

« Mrrrooowww… »
Sushi wailed.

« Oh,
you don't like me either, do you ? Well, that's fine. I
don't fucking need you, cat meat. » he dropped the cat
on the floor, nudging it away with his foot.

His
room was stifling hot. It was always unnecessary warm nowadays, he
refused to open the windows in the summer due to moths, as he feared
them eminently. Unfortunately his fan was placed in his parents's
room. As Jenn was 'keeping cool for two'. And Aislynn could
always open his windows if necessary.

His
walls, beneath the layers of paintings, news clippings, posters and
photos would have been black.

His
sheets were red, his computer chair too.

On
his desk were piles of paper, half-finished paintings, plastic cups
filled with tinted water and brushes, wads of tape used for bordering
work, pencils, pencil shavings. Post-it notes.

The
post-it notes were peculiar things.

He
used them to write down plot-bunnies, random thoughts he wanted to
remember, and colour names he enjoyed.

Aislynn
loved colour names. His name was well known in the benjamin moore
store and at home depot. He went in almost every day after school to
nabb the litle paint cards, the ones with the number and colour.

He
was seventeen in one week. That was June the thirteenth. A gemini.
Moody, apparently, two-sided. He knew what that meant. He understood
very well.

He
hadn't slept more than two or three hours total in the past week.
And those hours were during the day. It had nothing to do with
capable or incapable. Nothing to do with counting sheep or sleeping
pills. Those small outthrust ideas of mankind were frivolous and
inconsequential.

The
reason for which he spent all day in a trance, taking notes, and all
night hunched over a painting, or in front of the television,
bingeing perpetually, had everything to do with his father, with his
mother, with the small things his peers murmured without thought and
the loud obnoxious outcries of the boys he wished he didn't want to
bone. They had everything to do with life.

And
they couldn't be solved by a chemical overdose or counting false
projections of his overactive imagination.

That
was why his eyes, although huge, soft black and heavily fringed with
lashes, which almost permanently had purple brusies and bags beneah
them, were only now beginning to come to life, as the depths of his
imagination began to stir, and thoughts began to potentate within the
reaches of his visual spectrum.

He
started out with a blank sheet. And, slowly, it filled.

Line,
first. Shadows, shapes and silhouettes…. Then colour, lots and lots
of colour.

This
was a sort of mind clearing at first. Taking it in and letting it
out. Tears of rage and fear spilled from his eyes onto his cheeks.
Angry, thick,choked mutterings worked their way out of his mouth.
Festering on the paper, artistically ornamented fecal matter. Then
the tears and the screams he couldn't scream found their way on
paper.

The
outrage, the fear, the hate. Everything.

He
talked to the paper about the people he wanted to hurt. The people he
wanted to love him.

How
he knew his mother had killed herself because of him. How he was
sorry.

How
he wanted her back.

How
he hated Jenn, and how it scared him how sometimes he would catch
himself staring at her neck. Think of how delicate and breakable it
was.

How
he was so angry. So so angry. He wanted to hurt somebody. Hurt
himself. Anything.

Then
it was over. Very suddenly, in a huge, grand, unthinkable rush, and
he couldn't do anything. Couldn't even breathe.

He
would feel lightheaded for a moment, and his eyes would close.

And
a slow, lulling wave of calm would swallow him up, with it's muted
silence, the way it was to be underwater.

And
the emotion simply ebbed away. Away, away.

His
eyes, snapped wide, and suddenly, lucid, he sat up.

He'd
been lying on his desk, his head precariously close to his painting.

Dead
straight locks of white-blonde hair dipped into the wet paint.

He
had to go run.

His
eyes drifted to the watch on his bedside table.

It
was only twelve.

Jenn
and Ben. They ought to be asleep by now.

He
shimmied out of his jeans and into some rip-off sweats that ended
just past his knee. Then the shoes went on. And those were more
ripped up canvas runners than true shoes. He donned a thick black
hoody, knowing that no matter how warm it was he would get cold.

He
didn't know why that was.

And
soon he was out in the fresh slowly cooling night. Early summer, the
smell of freshly mown grass lingered in the air, and the fog was
settling just now.

His
feet slapped the pavement in an infectuous rhythm, one that made him
feel like he was dancing, TAP tap tap tap tap tap TAP tap tap tap tap
tap…

He
started humming as he ran, listening to the tune play out in his
head. His own tune.

It
was at least an hour of non-stop running before he exhausted. Before
he started feeling the burn in his legs and lungs. Even then, he
didn't stop running.

When
he reached the gas station, a small place about eight miles down from
nonstop road, park, and empty stripmall, he was already jingling
change in his pocket.

He
looked down at his paint-stained hands, agitating the thready
frienship bracelets wound around them to avoid the curious stares
around him and the smirk of the cashier as he pushed the pile of food
onto the counter.

He
didn't know where the bingeing came from, or why it was such an
important part of his nightly rituals. But he continued the tradition
happily and with ease, knowing that the amount of exercise he did far
out-weighed the amount of junk food he ate, and otherwise his
metabolism was sure to aid him.

As
he neared his house, humming Enya's Carribean Blue under his
breath, he stopped up short.

His
heart jumped in his chest, and his breath quickened.

There
was a man-boy in front of his house.

An
almost inescapably beautiful manboy creature thing. Standing there in
the fog.

His
hair was the colour of rust and blood. It was too long, and mostly
straight, but it curled a little at the tips.

He
looked uncomfortably tall, over six-feet, with broad shoulders, long
legs, and a sinewy, lean, build.

Aislynn's
heart and breath stopped all together when the manboy turned
instinctively, and their gazes met.

He
had the most beautiful eyes, big, wide, slanted, and pale
grey-blue-violet. His brows were dark and arching over them, and his
lips full and soft beneath them. His face was pale and clear, his
nose just a little bit hawkish, but small, and the planes of his face
were hard and slashing, like a man's, but clear and soft looking,
like a boy.

« Who
are you ? And what are you doing at my house ? »
Aislynn accused, trying to cover up the curling butterfly sensations
that exploded in his belly. He pulled his face down into his most
menacing frown. « I may be small, but I could probably
still beat you up. »

The
boy didn't answer. His eyes widened a bit, and when he smiled, it
was a little sweet and very sad.

He
sat down on the grass very slowly, and gently tugged at the stem of
one of Jenn's daisies until it was curled around his nimble
fingers.

« Those
are my stepmom's flowers. » Aislynn muttered irritably,
although he didn't care, « You can't pick those.
She'll attack you in a pregnancy-induced frenzy. You'll die a
slow and painful death.

« she
won't mind. » Was all the manboy said.

Suddenly
Aislynn felt very warm. He looked around, unsure of what to do next.
« Do you want to come inside and watch spongebob with
me ? »

The
manboy took an almost impossibly long time to answer. He might have
been thinking very hard about the question, and yet, if he had been
doing so, Aislynn would have had no way of knowing.

His
facial expression remained sweetly sad and impassive.

« Okay. »

« Okay
what ? »

He
stood up, wiping his hands off on his jeans, and made his way towards
the house. He reached the door, tugged, hard, found it wasn't open,
and then turned to look at Aislynn expectantly.

Rushing
forward the younger boy managed, somehow or other, to overcome his
shakes and shivers, and unlock the door of the basement.

The
basement belonged wholy to Aislynn. His father only went there when
he wanted something obscure and unavailable in the upstairs world,
and Jenn didn't venture into the space at all. It was too dark and
frightening for her. It depressed her and made her gloomy, which was
bad for the baby.

Aislynn's
shoulder automatically shrugged, almost on its own at this notion.
The downstairs had game consoles, a computer, a tv, a bathroom, and a
couch. If anything, it brightened his day – or, rather, night. The
factt that Jenn never went there brightened it further.

The
idea had been for Jenn's son to sleep there, but currently it
seemed as though maybe it would be Aislynn's forever, or at least
until he moved out.

Aislynn
moved to the cupboard, softly inviting the manboy to make himself at
home.

He
didn't know him, although he wanted to, and he didn't understand
him or his long silences and soft noncommittal answers.

The
realisation caused his lips to part and a soft « hmmm. »
of discontent sound in his throat.

He
located the taped episode, and inserted it into the VCR, flicking on
the tv along with play and returning to the couch, where the manboy
already sat.

« So,
what's your name ? » Aislynn asked as the well
known theme song resounded over the television.

The
entire room was thrown into darkness but for the flickering light the
t.v. emitted.

Aislynn
liked to watch it that way.

The
images seemed more real.

And
his reality became fake.

Watching
as the manboy slowly parted his lips to bless him with another soft,
noncommittal answer, Aislynn realised that the boy didn't look fake
at all. He seemed more real than anything at the moment, the sad
intensity of his eyes, the bitter curve of his lips, the two freckles
beneath his left eye. The way he smelt and the way his hair shined.

Aislynn
wasn't quite sure how he felt about that.

« You
can call me Giacere, if you want. »

Aislynn
didn't answer ; simply gave a small, almost imperceptible nod
of his head and turned to the television, trying to forget the other
boy was there. Which, as he soon found out, was nearly impossible.

« I've
seen this episode, » Giacere suddenly claimed.

Aislynn
was suddenly startled out of his reverie, « What ? »

« I've
seen this episode. » he repeated.

Aislynn
wasn't quite sure how to answer. He simply sat, panting a bit,
trying not to have a heart attack. He could feel his cheeks heating
up. And his eyes widened furthermore when Giacere suddenly turned to
look him in the eye. Aislynn didn't know what to say. He was the
first to break eye contact, looking down and away. « Y-yeah ?
You've seen it ? » He anxiously fiddled with a
thread at his jeans, anything to keep from looking at the boy
opposite from him.

« A
few times. » Giacere was still looking at him, spearing
him to the spot with his indeterminate gaze.

« Well,
the tattletale strangler disguises himself as the bodyguard that
Spongebob is looking for to protect him form the tattletale strangler
in the first place... »

Aislynn
tried to take his mind off the way the other boys eyelids flickered
over the screen, the way his lips moved whe he spoke, the way his
hands were calloused and tan and the way they wore at each other when
he spoke. Like he was trying to rub away the discomfort of speaking
his mind.

« And
then, at the end, the tattletale strangler turns himself in just to
get away from Spongebob. »

« Huh. »
Aislynn had already seen the episode himself. But he liked the sound
and of Giacere's voice, all deep and mellow and honey-sweet. « Do
you want to watch another one ? »

« Okay. »

In
a flash Aislynn was up, and suddenly Amélie was in his hands.

He
pushed the tape into the VCR with the relish and savour of a longheld
religious tradition, and sat back on the couch to watch.

The
movie lasted late into the night and early in the morning. And in
all the times before, pulled irrevocably in a trance that plagued him
with night, Aislynn hadn't ever felt so much. Not since he'd been
visited by the demons of slumber. And, here, at some strange moment,
some strange quirk in fate had given him this creature who made him
feel awake.

Just
as the sky was lightening, and the blue was fading to purple, that
was whenGiacere suddenly stood, and said, « I have to go
now. »

He
swept his jacket up around him, strided towards the basement door and
strode out into the dawn, his chin held high and a strange smile on
his face.

Aislynn
stood as well, running after him and into the grass, barefoot. « Are
you coming back ? » he asked, panting. He'd never
needed anyone until he'd needed Giacere. The pounding of his heart
in his chest and threat of tears in his eyes were foreign to him. He
did not reccognize them as a fear of being alone again.

Giacere
stopped very slowly, turning to look at him with his soft curving
lips and curling hair. « Do you want me to ? »

Slowly,
Aislynn gave the manboy a small, barely susceptible nod.

« Alright. »

He
turned again and strode off down the street, humming a strange tune
beneath his breath and mesemerizing Aislynn with the flow of his
hair, the liquid honey sound of his voice, and his scent that still
lingered in the air.

Copyright  July 2006
Jamilla Touré

delusional

I
believed I could cure it all

For
you dear

Coax
or trick or drive or

drag
the demons from you

Make
it right for you sleeping beauty

Truly
thought

I
could magically heal you.

Sleeping
Beauty, by A Perfect Circle

I know it doesn't appear to
fit right so far, but it will, so pay attention to the lyrics

(A/N – REVIEW MAN ! COME
ON !!! Jam here. Okay, so. I know now that I'm a really uber
bad bad girl. Because I was scarcely two chapters into the « FAW
(the flawed and wingless) » and nor have I noticeably
advanced in « Tight Sweat ». But, come on !
I was inspired. Are you not inspired too ? This is the longest
chapter I've written in a while. It took me over two weeks to
write, because I had to do it little by little. Now I have to go edit
it and post it. So, because I am putting so much effort into this, go
to the guest book or something and review. Yeah. It's chic.

Copyright 
July 2006 Jamilla Touré

The author would like to thank you for your continued support. Your review has been posted.